


Perfect

by lecroixss



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asgard, But it's okay, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Prom, Prompt Fill, Prompt Night: MCU, a little bit of drinking, they fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 21:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10705617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecroixss/pseuds/lecroixss
Summary: Loki has finished his magical studies, and Frigga throws his class a congratulatory ball that is basically a prom. Thor insists to escort Loki and things escalate from there. Fights, magic, drinking, and kissing. Not all in that order. I hope you like this, anonymous prompter!





	Perfect

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [AvengersPrompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/AvengersPrompts) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Loki has completed his magical studies, and Frigga celebrates with a royal ball. Thor is proud. Alcohol is drunk, and love confessions happen. (Set on Asgard, please!)
> 
> =
> 
> This is not really movie compliant other than being on Asgard. Assume that Loki already knows that he’s adopted, but that he thinks he’s an Asgardian and not a Jotun. Same bit about Odin being a huge jerk of a dad. No other Avengers make an appearance here, sadly.

“Perfect.”

Loki twists and turns in the large, gilded mirror in his room. Years of dedication to the study of sorcery have finally paid off—he’s completed all his magic classes and is being named a Master. The only thing left is to finish his higher education so that he can pursue the status of Adept, on a similar level to his mother. Their specialties are different, but he still remembers his first tentative lessons at her knee. Secretly, one of his favorite things is still to make the small mage-flames that dance in the air. Frigga’s are always a gentle white-gold glow, like a sun at its zenith. Loki’s are green, eerie and lapping greedily at the air. He’d been upset at first, pouting because he didn’t match his mother’s exactly.

*

“Oh, my dear,” she’d laughed. “One day you may mask the color if you wish, but the simplest mage-flame is a reflection of who you are.”

“Then I’m ugly,” Loki had said, extinguishing his bitterly.

“No, darling.” Frigga held him close, warm and soft against him, helping him fight the tears he so desperately wanted to keep back. Loki didn’t really want to be a mage anyway. He wanted to be a warrior, and warriors never cried.

“I like them!” The small voice came from around a large pillar, followed quickly by an “oops!” and a dry scrabble.

Frigga sighed. “Thor, come out.”

Loki glared from between Frigga’s arms at the tousle of wild blond hair that cautiously peeked out until Thor could gaze at them apologetically with his large, blue eyes.

“You’re not supposed to spy on people!” Loki didn’t mean for it to be so loud.

“I didn’t mean to! I just wanted to see if you were done so we could play, and then I saw all the lights and…” Thor gives his biggest, saddest pout, and at that age Loki hadn’t built an immunity to it yet.

“Well, I don’t like playing with the others anyway.”

“No, not with them! I thought we could play out by the stream? You know, it’s got all the flowers and it’s always so cold, and Mother, why are the flowers blooming even though it’s so cold? But I like it there anyway, because it’s quiet and I can hear you,” Thor finished up, looking at Loki. “I brought the book?” He offered a large, leather-bound tome, well-loved and bound in a strap to dangle on his back.

“Fairytales _again_?” Loki complained, but he was already disentangling himself from Frigga and waving his hand for the book imperiously.

“Yes!” Thor looked eager and handed it over, strap and all. “You always read so much better than Mother. …Sorry, Mother.” Thor hunched his shoulders guiltily.

“I don’t mind. Your brother is excellent at reading.” Frigga smiled to see her oldest puff up with pride and her youngest brighten, turning to his brother like a flower turning to the sun. “Loki’s lessons are over for today, so you may both go.”

With a little cheer, Thor had grabbed Loki’s hand to haul him out of the palace, dodging staff and other inhabitants with ease. They’re out of the gates with the stream in view when he slows down, tugging at Loki’s hand in a way that always indicated that he wanted to say something and wasn’t sure how it would be received.

“Yes?”

Thor gave his brother a shy smile. “I like your fire better,” he all but whispered. “I think green becomes you. It’s pretty.”

*

Loki snaps out of his reverie with a little shake. He smooths his coat again—a deep emerald color, almost black, with white trim and the large, golden brooch announcing his new status—and heads for the door. His mother has organized the annual promenade that celebrates all who have managed to complete the grueling years of magic study to become Masters. Many of his year-mates will stop here and apprentice to practical trades such as healers or far-seers. A few are bright enough to continue, to become Adepts that shape and change reality and magic itself. They will be the innovators of spells to come, rightfully respected in the nine realms.

Many of those attending have found partners, as with any other ball or party, but Loki is going alone. He pretends it’s because he doesn’t care for such things, but really it’s because, between his aloof attitude and unusual complexion, he’s certain no one would have accepted an invitation to be his partner for the evening. It’s better to keep his illusion intact than to suffer the indignity of rejection.

Just before he reaches for his door, it flies open with the kind of boisterous enthusiasm that can mean only one person:

“Thor,” Loki sighs, resigned. He doesn’t even bother to point out that his brother could have walked in on him naked at any time. Thor’s general attitude towards varying states of undress is generally summed up with ‘Eh.’

“Brother!”

Thor is everything Loki knows his father wants in a son—tall, burly, blond, loud, rowdy, and an excellent fighter. It makes Loki burn with jealousy sometimes, but as much as he thought this one be one of those times, Thor’s enthusiastic greeting and accompanying bear-hug falls on the right side of charming tonight.

“I’m so proud.” By the gods, is Thor _crying_? Yes, he is, and he doesn’t look the least bit ashamed. He looks as proud as if the achievement were his own. Loki gives him an awkward pat on one large arm.

“Yes, well,” he tries awkwardly. “I worked quite hard, so thank you— _THOR_!” he yelps as Thor wraps his arms around Loki again and hefts the smaller man completely off his feet. Loki is vain, he knows, but it’s more desperation than vanity that actually leads him to say, “You’re rumpling my formalwear!”

It works, much to Loki’s relief. Thor looks chagrined, although no less enthusiastic, and takes a careful step back as though demonstrating his contrition. He swipes at his face, still beaming. Loki feels a warm bubble of fondness rise in his chest as he takes in his younger brother swiping at his own face and beaming. Of course, that’s when Thor opens his oafish mouth and ruins everything.

“I heard you have no one on your arm for the promenade!” he booms.

Loki shoots him a withering glare. “I did not _choose_ anyone to escort,” he corrects.

Thor is already nodding. “Yes, as I said. So I thought to offer my services!” He beams, happy as anything despite Loki’s baleful glare.

Loki is moments away from telling Thor in a much less polite manner to go away when the Asgardian lifts his chin and preens in the mirror, smoothing the jewel-bright waterfall of fabric acting as his dress cape. “I asked Mother to find something complimenting to you,” he says, eyes flicking between his clothes and Loki’s.

Loki does have to admit that some thought must have gone into it. Thor is swathed in deep red accented in pale, burnished gold. As he sidles up to share the space in front of the mirror, Loki’s emerald hues stand out much more brightly for the contrast. He heaves a sigh.

“All right. If you’re so set on it and Mother helped you, I accept.”

Thor barely reigns in another of his crushing hugs, even if he seems to be vibrating in place with energy. He grins expectantly until Loki grumbles and offers his arm, which Thor takes with none of the daintiness of a maiden but all the enthusiasm one could want out of a partner. Loki tries desperately to smother a grin. He doesn’t want to encourage Thor, after all.

* * *

This night might never end.

Loki keeps hearing a very different variation coming from all around him from his year-mates—specifically, ‘I hope this night never ends.’ Loki hopes fervently that doesn’t happen. He’ll go crazy if this doesn’t end soon.

Normally, Loki adores pomp and circumstance. He loves the formality, the showmanship, the delicate dance of manners and smiles. But _this_ …

He’s had to dance with six different people already, only two of whom were his year-mates and only one of which could actually turn without stepping on his toes. He’d outright refused to dance properly with Thor, who had immediately turned to dancing exuberantly with any partner he could get to agree. Loki doesn’t know why it irks him so much, since he’s the one who’d refused in the first place, but Thor’s overloud laughter and the way he twirls his current partner makes Loki want to set fire to something.

Or someone.

He’s not picky.

He sits and wonders idly if he mother would be offended if he were to leave the party before it officially ends, fingering his glass of wine in speculation. He’s jolted out of his thoughts when Thor throws himself into the chair beside him, flushed with exertion and grinning. He snatches the cup from Loki’s hand and tosses back the contents—the better part of a glass, as Loki wasn’t paying it much attention.

“You’re barely old enough to drink,” Loki snaps, grabbing the glass back from Thor’s hand. Thor laughs uproariously and nudges his brother with his knee.

“I’m more than old enough, Loki. Besides, _one_ of us should have fun, and you’re wasting the opportunity!”

“Yes, well, you’re well on your way to having more than enough ‘fun’ for the two of us and more,” Loki observes sourly.

Thor’s expression twists for a moment before he grins again and yanks Loki forcefully to his feet. “Come, let’s dance.”

Loki wrestles his arm free, which he knows he can only do because Thor lets him. It irks him even more. “You’re like a bear in shoes, you oaf. My toes are sore enough, thank you.”

“No one said it had to be with me. Look; here.” Thor reaches out and snags the closest passing female—a light thing with pretty red hair and a dress like a waterfall. “Hello, beautiful. You seem the type to dance pretty.”

The girl—woman, really—takes it all in stride, confused for only a moment before she realizes what’s going on and pressing a hand to Thor’s broad chest. “I do indeed, Highness. Did you want a demonstration?”

“Brinna,” Loki says stiffly. She’s a year-mate of his, and an interminable flirt. What a perfect match for his brother.

“Loki,” she replies easily, as though she hadn’t asked him a handful of times to this same ball.

“Oh, good, you know each other! Brinda, was it? Do you have a friend for Loki here?”

Brinna ignores Thor’s misstep. “I would, if both of you consent.”

Loki’s lips thin at the wording, but naturally Thor finds it hysterical.

“I’ll certainly consent anything a pretty maid like you suggests,” he says a little too loudly. Loki realizes that he doesn’t know how many cups of wine his brother has actually had tonight, since they’ve been separated for the last few hours at least. He also knows that stronger drinks have been making the rounds in discreet flasks passed from hand to hand.

“Thor, you’re drunk, aren’t you?” Loki hisses.

“Nope!” But his laugh has the flavor of alcohol on it.

“Oh for—Brinna, you will have to forgive my brother. He—”

“For what?” she interjects, and,

“You don’t speak for me!” Thor exclaims angrily.

_Now_ Loki understands why his mother has the habit of rubbing her temples when the two of them get into something particularly stupid. He silently apologizes for the trouble he caused her growing up. He’ll do better than just flowers for her birthday this year, he promises himself.

“You are embarrassing yourself with this behavior,” Loki mutters tightly, grabbing hold of Thor’s upper arm and prying him away from his prospective dance partner. Brinna might be a flirt, but she also knows when to give something up as lost, and disappears quickly into the crowd.

“Well if you’d dance instead of standing there like a statue, I wouldn’t have to find partners like a fisherman casting his net.”

“I have no desire to dance, _or_ to continue this conversation. We’re leaving.” If Thor is drunk, he’s sure their mother will forgive a hasty exit.

Thor balks. “Then why agree to let me escort you? Why come at all?” The blond’s voice is steadily rising, and Thor has trained his voice to rise over the clash of metal on a battlefield. People are starting to take notice. “Have I not been a gentleman? Have I not shown you that I _want_ to be here with you? That I am proud and wish to be seen with you, to eat and stand and _dance_ as equals? That—”

“We _are_ equals,” Loki says tightly, trying to keep his voice low. He radiates calm imperiousness, but he’s starting to get angry. The last thing he needs is for a fight at his own graduation ball to be the best gossip for the next year. “But you are acting the fool and shaming the family name, brother.”

Thor’s expression goes wild and angry. “ _YOU ARE_ _NOT_ _MY BROTHER!_ ” he yells.

Loki stills completely, the words like a slap to the face. The entire room has come to a standstill, a small circle growing around them as people shuffle back, unwilling to be too close to the conflict.

“What did you say?” Loki’s words are cool and measured, like shards of crystal.

Thor’s hands ball up and he braces himself like he expects to be hit. “We’re not brothers,” he repeats, soft but still angry. “We—”

Loki whirls and stalks his way out of the room, people parting before him. He can hear Thor calling out to him, chasing after him, but he blasts the heavy doors closed with magic as he leaves, feet taking him to the palace gardens.

He’s still pacing the center of one of the garden mazes when Thor finally finds him, cape snagged with leaves and hair askew. He’s lost his boots for some reason, and he doesn’t look angry anymore; just apologetic.

“Loki, please…”

“Yes, Highness?” Loki asks with a cruel twist of his lips. They’ve both known for years that they aren’t related by blood. If nothing else, Odin’s obvious preference of Thor, his biological son in every way, would have made it painfully apparent. But Loki has tried for a very long time now to ignore this fact, and he’d almost succeeded. Frigga’s warm love more than makes up for Odin’s vague disappointment that Loki will never be the warrior Odin wants, and he’d _thought_ he could count on Thor’s respect and faith in his ability to lead through cleverness and wit

Apparently not.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Thor pleads.

“Like what, Highness?” Loki mocks. “You’ve made it abundantly clear in front of dozens of witnesses that you consider me no brother of yours. Or did you mean my claim to the bloodline? Unfortunately, you have no say in that so long as father and mother, at least, continue to accept me. We are princes of equal standing in the Odinson name, your thoughts notwithstanding.”

For the first time in his life, Thor backs down from a fight. He attempts to shrink in on himself, to make himself look smaller as he timidly approaches the brunet.

“That’s not what I meant, Loki.” He tries to reach for the brunet’s hand, and then again when Loki jerks away. The look he has on his face is so painfully sorry yet hopeful that for a moment, Loki remembers the way Thor used to gaze at him when they were younger and Thor had broken something, then come straight to his older brother to fix it before the blond got into trouble. Loki used to grumble and sigh, but he’d always been weak to that look.

Apparently, some things never change. He finds that he’s allowed Thor to clutch his hand before he can even think about it. Now the younger man is holding it so hard that it will be difficult to shake free.

“Fine. Say you piece and then let me be, br— _Thor_ ,” he corrects himself. If possible, Thor looks even more miserable.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Thor repeats, and it’s almost a whisper. “But we’re _not_ equals, Loki, not really.” Loki wants to interject, but Thor blunders on and he did agree to give the blond his say. “You’re my older brother, and you’ve always looked out for me and taken care of me, even when you pretended not to. You’ve always been ahead of me, our whole lives. You are the shadow and I am the light, father always says, and I suppose it’s true because the closer I think I am, the further away you stretch.”

This is definitely not going the way Loki thought it would. Thor’s grip has, if anything, tightened, but he hasn’t lost that cautiously hopeful look.

“I’m not… I’m not good with words like you are. I don’t know how to say things that make men realize what they want, or to wrap a thing in a pretty bow so that words that feel harsh are not. I don’t—I mean, not since we were children have I thought—” He blows out a frustrated sigh. “This is what I mean! I don’t even know where to start!”

“Because you slept through our Diplomacy lessons,” Loki says automatically. It makes Thor laugh weakly, and that’s when Loki realizes that the blond is actually crying. Thor doesn’t cry. Not when he breaks bones or faces down beasts five times his size, or confronts their parents’ fury or the scorn of past lovers. But Loki can hear the thick, unshed tears in Thor’s voice.

“You did always say I was better with actions than words,” Thor mutters. And before Loki can wonder what that is supposed to mean, Thor has yanked him in and down and has his lips pressed against Loki’s, tipping the brunet’s head back just slightly, hand hovering but not quite touching the back of his head. It’s insistent but chaste, and Thor kisses a little like he fights, with everything he has lain bare; with all his passion and with everything that he is. But he also kisses like he’s afraid of losing, like he’s taken up a dance for which he doesn’t know all the steps. When he pulls free, shuffles awkwardly and his blue eyes flit over Loki’s face.

“I haven’t… I haven’t thought of you as my brother in a very long time. And I’ve never believed we were equals, because you always seem so far above me. But I want to be. Equal, I mean. I want to be able to stand by you, and for my pride in you be that of a man and not of your little brother. That’s… I want you to see me as a man, and to be proud of me, and to let _me_ be proud of you by your side, and… And Loki, I can’t see your face right now and I have no idea how badly I’ve messed this up.”

Loki, still slowly processing all if Thor’s words, absently raises a dance of magefire burning in gentle gold, like their mother’s. It explains a lot of Thor’s behavior lately, if he thinks about it. Especially tonight, when Thor started off with eyes only for him. Arranging his clothing to match, even though he normally has to be bullied into dressing up in anything other than armor. The way he happily waited to be called in; had begged to be allowed to escort Loki for the night. How he’d sulked when Loki granted him only the first dance.

“May I kiss you again?” Thor asks timidly.

“You’re drunk,” is Loki’s first response.

“Not really.” Thor looks like a child caught in a lie. “I thought that seeming that I was would excuse some of my foul mood. And it might… might make you forgive me faster?” He actually cringes when he says the last part. “Father’s been secretly slipping me hard liquor for years. Two cups of wine are paltry in comparison. So… may I kiss you again?”

Loki thinks it over. “Once more. Convince me that you tell me the truth.”

Thor’s smile is like the sun breaking through the clouds. He pulls Loki close, holding him firm and close in his arms, cups his head gently in one large palm, and leans in, tongue flicking out to wet his own lip, hesitating in the last moment. Loki realizes that for once, he brother is waiting for permission before simply charging in. So he gives it to him, closing the small gap between them in a silent agreement.

This time, Thor starts off chaste, lips tasting a little sweet with wine but not enough to dull with masculine roundness of him. He parts his lips and runs his tongue along the seam of Loki’s, wordlessly asking for permission. Loki parts his lips, curious, and Thor licks into him slowly, almost respectfully. He shifts them both to get a better angle, breaking to re-fit their lips before his tongue is back, playing lightly in Loki’s mouth; delicately tracing his teeth, his lips, dancing with his tongue. Thor makes a helpless, broken noise, and Loki can see a sliver of blue as Thor opens his eyes, desperate to look at him. Without a thought, Loki summons more magelights. Thor pulls away softly, lips kiss-bruised, to look at them.

“Not those ones,” he says quietly. “Yours.”

“They _are_ mine. I made them.” His lips tingle, and he’s having a hard time convincing himself it’s the alcohol on Thor’s lips.

“No. The… _your_ lights. I’ve always liked them much better. I’ve always loved seeing you best.” Thor’s fingers are gentle under Loki’s chin as he tilts him up in a silent request. Loki nods and makes a vague gesture, making the lights slide from the golden light to a bright green glow that fills the small courtyard until it feels like another world.

This time, when Thor kisses him, he kisses back, careful to give the blond only as much as he is given. And it’s gentle, and real, and definitely not something shared as brothers, but as men.

“Forgive me,” Thor begs.

“I shall still blame you for all our stupid stunts,” Loki replies. He finds that he hands are cupped against Thor’s cheeks, but he doesn’t move them.

“All right.”

“And you will never be so good at me at sorcery.”

“Yes,” he agrees.

“And you will never stop being stubborn and foolish.”

“Not likely.”

“But I will still laugh when you are punished.”

“I’m sure.”

“And I’m not likely to swing one of those barbaric hammers.”

“It would be ridiculous to think of it.”

“And I will need to be reminded, perhaps frequently.”

Thor’s eyes light up with hope.

It’s Loki who starts the kiss, this time, dragging Thor in to nibble at his lower lip before licking into his mouth. He feels a small spark of pride to know that he is naturally good at this too; that Thor has a hard time muffling a small moan of pleasure at the back of his throat.

“Does that mean… Are we… Can I assume that you are no longer angry? That we are… That we are all right with each other? Like this?” Thor waves his fingers through the closest ghost of green light. The gesture seems to soothe his nerves.

“Yes,” Loki says decisively. He takes Thor’s hand back and presses a kiss to his knuckles and gives him one of his rare smiles.

“Yes, Thor. We’re prefect.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually do my pairing so I thought I'd challenge myself? I honestly don't know what I was thinking, or how this even came out! I'm so sorry. ;_; *cowers* I hope the prompter enjoys at least some part of it. ;_;


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